


Midnight in the Garden of Longing

by Andrina_Nightshade



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Univer - Medieval/Rennaissance elements, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Arranged Marriage, Bazine Netal - black widow, Come Marking, F/M, Loss of Virginity, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Sex Pollen, Sexism, Tropes tropes everywhere, Unsafe Sex, Virgin Ben Solo, Virgin Rey, angst angst angst, broken hearts and pining, but the author demands HEA and this is what we get, but with happily ever after, consensual voyeurism, contrived coincidences but who cares if Reylo is endgame?, discussions of contraception and pregnancy, even Bazine gets her own HEA..., love letter, mestruation, secret garden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:55:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27098446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andrina_Nightshade/pseuds/Andrina_Nightshade
Summary: Locked away in a tower with the King's mad daughter, Rey's only reprieve is a hidden and magical garden. It is her solitude, her sanity, her sanctuary.But as she grows older, the garden awakens something else in her... And what will happen the day a stranger stumbles upon her hidden sanctuary?A Medieval/fantasy AU meets sex pollen.Written for #Reyloween2020 - Prompt: Secret Garden.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 60
Kudos: 178
Collections: Reyloween 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What do you get when you combine secret gardens, sex pollens, sleep deprivation, and Reylo?
> 
> Answer: This story.
> 
> This will be a two parter, with the final chapter uploaded in the next few days. As always, beware the tags...

Rey was 12 years old when she first discovered the hidden garden.

Her parents had simply vanished one night, with nary even a goodbye to their daughter. Of course she was neither a fool, nor deaf to the whispers that rattled through the court. Lots of the King's critics were wont to "disappear", even supposedly loyal advisers such as her father.

She could have been sent anywhere - but Snoke it seemed had taken a liking to her, and she found herself his unwilling ward instead.

So Rey bided her time. For almost a month, she watched silently, learning the rotation of the guards, squirrelling away scraps of food, and hoping beyond measure that Snoke's bleary-eyed crow familiars would be otherwise occupied spying on others to care for her comings and goings. When the moment struck, she had climbed down from her bedroom using the ivy as her ladder, and run.

All she had was her mother's pearl-handled dagger, her wits, and the sheer determination that she would find allies - for her father had surely had those before his "disappearance". They would take her to somewhere safe and faraway, and one day she could wreck her vengeance upon King Snoke and his kin.

But her escape was not to be.

As guards had chased her through the castle gardens, their bloodhound snapping at her heels, Rey stumbled and fell into a curtain of ivy…

… and through the foliage into somewhere new.

She had lived around the castle her whole life, but never had she encountered _this_ part of the gardens. The flowers here were beautiful - not the regimented, sterile design of the rest of the garden. The air was thick with the scent of lilacs, honeysuckle and another blossom she did not recognise - one with purple petals and a vein of red running along each one.

A curtain of vines twisted overhead in some vague semblance of a roof. Yet, the moon was still visible overhead, casting everything in a silver glow. At the centre stood what she assumed was once a statue, now consumed by moss so she knew not whether the figure was human or beast, man or woman.

Against one wall were bushes heaving with ripe berries. Upon the other was carved a small stone fountain, a comical face spouting water from its mouth.

The snarling of the dogs and cries of the guards faded away. And for the first time in weeks, Rey felt _safe._

The absurd notion took her that she could stay here forever. There was shelter, and food, and water. She bathed her face in the fountain; she nibbled on blackberries which stained her mouth; and she curled up on a marble bench, and slept beneath a blanket of lilac and honeysuckle perfume. Her dreams were filled with the warm arms and loving kisses of her parents; and as her father twirled her in his arms, the King lay dead at their feet, his gold robes saturated with blood…

It was a strange dream, but a good one.

Come morning however, Rey awoke not in her lovely sanctuary but cold and sore on the ground with a startled servant having nearly tripped over her sleeping form.

The King was angry; though he did not strike her, she felt rage radiate off him like heat from a fire.

Would he have her executed too? Snoke was cruel, yes - but even a tyrant has lines he will not cross.

Infanticide, it seemed, was his.

Lifetime imprisonment, then? Thrown into some oubliette to wither away until youth and vitality were but a memory? Or perhaps he would strip her of her rank, force her to a life of cruel drudgery as one of his servants?

Killing her might have been a kindness compared to some of the punishments he was capable of dispensing.

Instead he placed a cold hand upon Rey's shoulders, his long fingernails digging into her flesh even through the heavy wool of her gown, and guided her towards the west wing of the castle.

Here, no servants scurried or scraped. Enchanted suits of armour, covered in dust and cobweb, turned their heads with an eerie creak as Snoke led her down a long hallway. This place was seldom visited, and certainly _never_ cleaned. Even the air felt thick and oppressive.

What horrors awaited her here? Rey wondered, as he guided her up a staircase, his hand still gripping her shoulder with bruising intensity. Their footsteps echoed against the stone, and shadows seemed to dance around them.

Snoke stopped before a heavy mahogany door, and wrapped his knuckles against it three times.

"Daughter?" He growled. "Are you decent? We have a visitor."

The door was thrown open, and a woman of twenty stood before them, her dark hair cascading scandalously behind her back. She wore robes of bright gold - the colour of her house - and smelled faintly of wine and expensive perfume.

Her eyes fell upon Rey, and her beautiful mouth contorted into a frown. 

Snoke tutted. "Not in your widow's weeds, Bazine? Your husband is barely cold in his grave."

The woman gave a mockingly low bow. “Apologies, dear father. I’m afraid I’ve been beset by an attack of melancholia today and am neither myself nor in the mood to entertain company.”

Behind her hand, Rey hid a smile. _No one_ spoke to Snoke like that without a noose being rapidly tightened around their neck. Even his son and heir, Prince Hux, would scrape and bow before his father. In Jakku, anything less than sycophancy towards the King might be rewarded with a death sentence.

But instead of the rage Rey expected, Snoke's lips curled into a smile. "Such a pity… you've clearly been so very lonely here these last months… Perhaps a companion might ease your melancholy." He quirked his head at Rey. "And young Rey here could use a… _stabilising_ influence."

Bazine rolled her eyes, but even her defiance only went so far. 

And thus, Rey found herself the unwelcome companion to Lady Bazine Netal.

Even though she was still a child, Rey knew of the rumours about Lady Bazine. Illegitimate daughter of the King, raised with every courtly privilege. Her marriage to the Duke of Takodana had been a grand affair, and a boon to her father. 

The Duke's mysterious death less than six months after their nuptials had driven their two lands to the brink of war.

Whispers had run rampant among Jakku's courtiers of Lady Bazine's involvement in her husband's death. Tales of her being found clutching a knife and cackling, of her and a lover (or two or even three depending on the outrageousness of the teller) cavorting in the martial bed amidst bloodstained sheets while her husband’s corpse lay upon the floor... 

Rey shuddered.

But Lady Bazine did not seem deranged or debauched. She had accepted her new "companion" with resignation, and merely poured herself a glass of ruby coloured wine from a carafe before sinking onto her couch and resuming the book she had been interrupted reading.

Rey hovered awkwardly in the foyer as the door had been slammed shut behind her. The wood seemed to hiss, and she heard the metallic clank of a lock though there was none visible. 

She shuddered. This was an oubliette of a particularly cruel variety…

"Seems my father was mistaken," Bazine remarked a few minutes later, taking a slow gulp from her goblet, eyes never even leaving the page. "He promised me a companion, and instead gave me a statue. Tell me, girl… how do you like to pass the time, apart from standing in doorways?"

Rey's eyes fell upon the bookcase in the corner. It was small, barely contained a dozen volumes bound in worn leather. "I like to read," she said and was oddly pleased by the lack of waver in her voice.

The woman's eyes flickered up from her book. Mirth sparkled in them. "Indeed… though I'm afraid my choice in reading material is not suitable for innocent eyes." She chuckled darkly. "So we shall have to find alternative entertainment for you. How is your needlepoint?"

Rey shrugged. "Mediocre." And then, because she thought better of it, she added "Milady."

A snort escaped Lady Bazine. "Well, little girl, it seems that you will have plenty of time to hone those skills…" and she folded the book closed in her lap and reached for a discarded embroidery hoop. She tossed it towards Rey, who barely caught it. "Luncheon will be here in a few hours - until then, try to make as little noise as possible. This is my favourite chapter." And she took a further swig of wine before settling back into her book in silence. 

* * *

Days in the west wing with Lady Bazine seemed to bleed into one another. Rey would work on needlepoint until her fingers cramped. She would sit on the window seat and look out over the palace at the people milling below like ants at work. Meals were regular, and passed through a hatch in the wall. The food was infinitely finer than the scraps fed to those in the dungeons below, but this was still a prison nonetheless.

And, despite how aloof the woman seemed, Lady Bazine’s eyes were often upon Rey with a predatory glare.

That first night, when her companion was abed, Rey had slunk out of her cot and crept across the floor towards the bookcase. 

Barely had her fingers grazed the cool leather binding of one book before a voice filled the room. "I told you those books weren't suitable for young eyes." 

Rey jumped; but Lady Bazine did not stir from her bed.

"And please cease your nocturnal creeping; I am a dreadfully light sleeper and - as my late husband would frequently bemoan - easily vexed if I am not well rested."

The unspoken threat sent a chill down Rey's spine, and she scurried back to bed.

They spoke little, and of no consequence. A chat about the rainstorm raging outside, a complaint about the toughness of the pork, and, if Bazine were feeling particularly talkative, some enquiries on how Rey's embroidery skills were coming along.

They seldom had visitors. Snoke would appear at least once a month. Those visits were rare, and far from cordial. His son Prince Armitage was a more sporadic, but much welcomed visitor on the rare occasions his duties brought him back to Jakku. In those hours, Rey saw a markedly different side to Bazine - still sharp and sarcastic, but there was warmth too between the siblings. And the Prince always brought illicit treats for his sister - dried candied apples from Alderaan, jam tarts from the kitchen, and rose jellies from Naboo - which she occasionally deigned to share with Rey. Fine wines too, and even the occasional book. 

"Bring the girl a book of her own next time, Armitage," Bazine told him during his first visit. "Otherwise she will end up reading mine when I’m distracted. I’d rather not be guilty of corrupting her innocent mind." And two had shared a laugh at Rey's expense.

But Prince Armitage had acquired a book for Rey by the time of his next sojourn to the West Wing. It was small, just a collection of poetry written in some plain calligraphy. But her starved eyes drank in every word.

* * *

A few months into their "companionship", Lady Bazine did something peculiar. 

She slept through the night, as though dead to the world. 

It had been one of those rare occasions when her brother had come to visit, and had stayed well into the evening until the setting sun alerted him to the lateness of the hour. Over the day, both had imbibed rather a large amount of wine with their evening meal. Bazine had been positively _swaying_ as she kissed her brother’s cheek in farewell, and continued to sup at her wine whilst finishing a chapter of her newest book.

Rey took advantage of that moment. When the Prince had slunk away earlier, the door had not made its characteristic metallic clink. Did she dare hope…?

She hurriedly dressed. With silent feet (and shoes in hand) she crept along the floor, and placed a palm on the cool mahogany of the door. _Please open, please open…_

It yielded to the merest push of her hands, and opened without so much as a creak. Like a spectre, Rey slid through the gap, slipping cold feet into her shoes. She drank deep from that first breath of freedom.

Though she harboured no ill will towards Lady Bazine, the thought of endless years spent here in the West Wing with her (for she suspected King Snoke would be in no great rush to rescind her punishment) was unbearable. Her last escape attempt, despite its meticulous planning, had gone badly awry. Tonight, she had no food, no weapons, not so much as a plan…

But still, she left.

Did the suits of armour have ever sleep? Did the King’s crows still circle overhead, seeking and listening for the merest hint of treachery?

To Rey, nothing mattered other than getting _out._

Moonlight poured into through a large window. She gazed down, and spotted a trellis laden with ivy. It would be a dangerous (and likely fatal) drop if she were to lose her footing and fall… But Rey had spent enough time clambering up trees with the servant children to feel confident in her climbing skills.

And death was probably preferable to another decade of needlepoint.

So, she scaled the ivy, finding the trellis surprisingly robust enough to handle her weight. Had she the time to plan, she might have worn a pair of breeches or something more practical than a skirt. But such an opportunity might never come again, and even the very real possibility of falling to her demise was worth it.

Three floors later, when her feet touched blessed _earth,_ Rey could have wept from the joy of it all. But instead, she gathered up her skirts, and ran. This time, no hot-breathed dogs followed her, no marching footsteps of the palace guards. She ran through the trees, gold and red leaves of autumn crushing beneath her feet. She ran towards the gate, but before reaching it, a strangely familiar scent assaulted her nostrils. 

Rey stopped in her tracks. Why, when her heart, her mind, her very muscles were screaming at her to continue and just _run_ , she did not understand. Instead, she turned, and followed that drugging perfume like a fox scenting its prey. 

She stopped before a wall- crumbling and overrun with moss. So unlike the sterile perfection the King insisted upon. Her fingers grazed the moss, and she suddenly found herself falling forward…

… And once again, she found herself in that strange hidden garden.

Rey spun on her heels, and tried to turn back. But the curtain of moss had disappeared, replaced by cold and unyielding stone. She tugged at her hair, and sank to the grass with a groan.

That the garden was enchanted ought not to have been a surprise to her. After all, she had borne witness to enough of the castle’s magics - and had been held prisoner through many of its machinations. And it would certainly explain how she had once again found herself here. 

Rey ought to have been afraid; or cautious at the very least. Already she had witnessed and borne the consequences of the dark powerful magic wielded by Snoke. But this place felt… different. Like a sanctuary, a place of benevolent magic. 

Or perhaps she found herself lulled by that drugginly sweet perfume that filled the air. 

She would not be able to remain here indefinitely; last time she had fallen asleep, the garden had dissolved around her and left to the mercy of Snoke once again. The same thing would evidently occur tonight.

She felt the sting of angry tears - having tasted the briefest hope of _freedom_ before the cup was dashed from her hands. And now, having escaped even from the West Wing with all its enchantments, her next prison would be infinitely worse.

So she gorged herself on the berries of the garden, until her stomach ached with fullness. There would be no fruit in the dungeons, of that she was certain. Just stale bread, and cold, fatty broth and whatever other kitchen scraps she would have to fight the rats for. She drank the cold, clear water from the fountain, and bathed herself as best she could - there would be no baths in the dungeons. 

She lay upon the dewy grass, and gazed at the stars twinkling overhead, she drank in the sight as though it would be the last time she ever saw them again.

And when her eyelids grew heavy and the scent of the garden lulled her to sleep, she dreamt of soft lips against her brow, and being buried into a warm embrace.

But when the pale sunlight of morning awoke her, she was no longer in the garden.

Instead, she lay upon the cold stone of Lady Bazine's balcony. Rey's back and neck whined in protest when she tried to sit up.

"Rey?" There was an unfamiliar emotion in Lady Bazine's voice. She sounded almost panicked. However, when her eyes fell upon the girl, still in her nightgown with bedraggled hair and bleary eyes, her expression became one of annoyance.

"You have a perfectly serviceable bed, you know. My father could easily have found far worse lodgings for you if sleeping on stone is your preference."

Bazine had never called her Rey before. _Girl_ , or _you,_ those were her perfected monikers. Rey wondered if, deep down, Bazine was truly as aloof and uncaring as she wanted to seem...

* * *

Over the years, Rey found her way into that mysterious garden a dozen times. Usually, it was when she tried to make an escape when the locks had not sealed properly after Bazine's brother had visited, or (one truly desperate evening when she had awoken from a nightmare of still being here with Bazine well into their dotage), she had fashioned a rope of sheets and tried to clamour down the balcony. Her fingers had slipped, and as she fell to what she hoped was her death, she had instead landed upon soft, familiar earth with nary a cut or bruise.

And every time, when she awoke with the dawn, Rey was back in the West Wing. Mostly on the balcony, but on a few occasions she awoken nestled between the sheets of her own bed.

She started to regard the garden as not an elaborate trap or means of preventing her escape; but as a transient sanctuary. She could dance and laugh freely without fear of Bazine's scowl. She could enjoy the simplicity of solitude for a few hours. She could pretend to be a nymph or a goddess in her own private domain.

She could pluck beautiful blossoms, and weave them into a crown or simply braid them into her hair. 

And every morning, all trace of her time there would be washed away.

After perhaps a year had passed, Lady Bazine became slowly more talkative. She initiated conversations, and even solicited Rey's opinion. 

When she found gaps in the girl's knowledge of history and politics and the arts, Bazine sighed. "From Princess to tutor," she remarked with a slow sip of her wine. "Such is my punishment, it seems. But it appears that I have no choice - I refuse to have a pretty little simpleton as my companion, and your education has been neglected for too long, Rey."

And so, the tedium of endless needlepoint became daily lessons instead. Bazine - Rey had eventually dispensed with Milady - made her recite lists of Kings and Queens of Jakku, going back thirty generations and three dynasties. At night, they stood on the balcony as Bazine told her the myths and legends behind the constellations. Some Rey of course knew from her childhood lessons and her mother's stories, but it was a pleasure to actually _learn._

Prince Armitage smuggled them some more books, on political theorems and philosophy. Rey had devoured them with the eagerness of a starving man at a feast. Though when, on later visit, she had politely enquired after some books on plants and herbs (so that she could learn more of the strange flowers in her mysterious sanctuary) an odd look had passed between the siblings.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, young Rey,” Prince Armitage had murmured, and though she wanted to push the matter, instead she fell silent.

That night, she wondered perhaps if the tales of how Lady Bazine’s husband had met his end were not entirely accurate. Bazine, despite her initial coolness towards Rey, had never come across as one to stab a man in his bed. But the subtly and cleverness of poison… _that_ Rey could easily believe.

A few nights after that discussion, Rey had gone to bed early, feeling strangely fatigued. Bazine had gathered a candelabra, and taken it onto the balcony to finish her book without disturbing the girl. It was an oddly touching gesture, and as her eyes drifted closed, Rey wondered if perhaps Bazine had grown fond of her in some way.

The following morning, Rey awoke with a stabbing pain in her abdomen, and a wetness on her sheets… She ripped back the bedclothes and stared at the pool of sticky blood on the sheets and on her nightgown. Before sense could catch up, she was screaming, and hands groped for the puncture wound of where Bazine had evidently stabbed her.

Except Bazine appeared equally startled for a moment, before slapping a hand over Rey’s mouth. “Silly girl,” she said in a condescending tone. “It’s just your first moon’s blood.” Rey’s panting breaths grew slow, and a flush crept over her cheeks. “Welcome to womanhood - I’m afraid it’s all pain from here onwards.”

But she had allowed Rey to lounge on the couch until the afternoon, and brewed her constant cups of tea. When the pain worsened, and no amount of massaging her belly would ease it, Bazine had paced in the room for a few moments, before stepping onto the balcony and emitting a low whistle.

A few minutes later, one of her father’s crows had appeared, its silhouette dark and imposing against the window. It cawed twice, and then hopped onto Bazine forearm. It’s eyes fell upon Rey, before turning to his master’s daughter and nuzzling its head against her cheek.

“Mitaka, I need some poppies,” she murmured to the bird. “And some willow bark too. Now, make haste.”

The crow spread its wings, swept into the sky with a screech.

But, hours later, it had still not returned. Bazine tugged a hand to her hair - Rey had never seen the woman so unabashedly frustrated. More than the pain, and the growing implications of what today’s events might mean for her future, that unsettled her.

And with good reason, it seemed.

The strange enchanted locks began to click upon at sunset. Bazine’s spine grew stiff, and Rey witnessed a flicker of what might have been genuine fear in her eyes…

As the door swung open, Snoke stood there in all his fury, sweeping his golden cloak behind him as she stormed into the room. His teeth were bared, and fury radiated from him like the heat of a forest fire… 

Even before he opened his mouth, Bazine had flinched. But the voice which came out was strangely dispassionate.

“We had an agreement, daughter,” he said, circling her. “That you broke it does not shock me - you were always a defiant little beast, just like your good-for-nothing mother. But that you would try to use my own familiars against me…” A pale hand grabbed her wrist, almost hard enough to shatter the bone beneath. “I ought to have had you executed when I had the chance…” 

“Don’t harm her!”

The words had tumbled from Rey’s lips before she could stop them. Her tone was less pleading, and more imperious than she had expected. That only seemed to fuel the King’s rage, but he dropped Bazine’s wrist and moved towards her. 

Even in her afflicted state, Rey stood up. She would not cow before him like a child; though she felt no different from yesterday, the laws of society now deemed her a woman, and she would face him as such and bear the consequences.

“Little mouse,” he said in a honey-toned voice that did not match the fury carved into his features, “It is customary to greet one’s monarch with a curtsey and some respect.” his fingers, cold and spindly like ice, brushed Rey’s hair. “You have clearly spent too long in the company of my daughter, and her dreadful influence has rubbed off on you…”

His next words were lost, as his eyes seemed to fixate at a spot behind Rey. she visibly blanched as she knew exactly what he had noted…

And now this lips curled into a cruel smile, teeth on display like a wolf. “Well, perhaps I can forgive your rudeness, my dear Rey, given your current… affliction. You women are of course prone to spells of madness at such times. However…” his hand roughly grasped her cheek. But Rey would not flinch - her parents had been brave and she would not dishonour them by showing a modicum less of courage. “Tomorrow, I will be less forgiving. For you are no longer a girl, Lady Kenobi. And I will expect the proper ceremonies and decorum come my next visit.”

He turned to leave, before leaning close to his daughter to murmur, “I would never have thought you the maternal sort, daughter. Clearly the girl has softened you. A pity it came years too late. Your misdeed is forgiven because it was done with kindness. But if you ever attempt to use my own familiars against me again-”

“You’ll have me hanged,” Bazine snapped, rolling her eyes. 

A dark chuckle escaped her father. “Kill my own flesh and blood? Such depravity you think me capable of, daughter. I would do no such thing.” His voice grew low. “But I will kill _her.”_

Though Bazine’s face was as stone, the fading sunlight caught a glimmer in her eyes. She nodded curtly, and watched as her father and jailer swept out of the room.

* * *

Rey’s pain settled the following day without assistance of whatever draught Bazine had hoped to brew for her. The blood did not cease for some days, but the flow grew lighter. She did not feel any different from the preceding days. But the world now saw her as a woman - something so private and embarrassing being declared made her squirm.

“You understand what this means, don’t you Rey?” Bazine asked over a dinner of poached fish, of which she had scarcely taken a bite. Rey on the other hand, whse appetite was strangely vociferous these last days, gave an uncertain nod.

Bazine sighed. “Well, I think it’s time we shifted the focus of your education, my dear. For I fear what awaits you in the future…”

Rey swallowed, the food now tasting of ash. “Am I to be married, then?”

“Not yet… you are only just sixteen, and it would be overly premature for the King to make enquiries. But once you have your next birthday…” Bazine shrugged. “Outside Jakku, the Kenobi name still means something. You will not find yourself overly short of suitors.”

“And what will happen to you?”

A mirthless chuckle escaped the older woman. “Nothing, Rey. I will remain here until my father dies, unless I have the misfortune to pre-decease him.” She flashed Rey a watery smile. “But come, it is not so bad!” She gestured around the room. “I have all I could wish for - a life free of drudgery, with my favourite books and a plentiful supply of treats. And, since I am considered _used goods,_ " her mouth made a moue of distaste, "Then I have no fear of Father trying to marry me off. Again."

The rest of their dinner passed in silence.

* * *

That night, Rey awoke from an uneasy sleep. She found herself not entangled in the sheets of her bed, but upon hard marble, a familiar perfume seducing her nostrils.

She blinked, and realised that somehow she had made her way to the hidden garden again. But how? Had she sleep-walked? Or had whatever strange enchantment that ruled this place simply plucked her from her bed and brought her here?

The scent of the flowers was stronger than ever tonight. Rey felt a headache blooming behind her temple. Her skin felt flush, and there was a growing ache in her belly. She sat up, and rubbed a hand over the back of her neck. The muscles underneath relished in her own touch, and before she could help it, a moan fell from her lips.

She splashed some fountain water over her face. But still her skin _burned._ What was this fever that had suddenly overcome her? 

Without realising, Rey's fingers had slipped beneath the fabric of her nightgown, and began to tease at her breast. The skin was sensitive, and the bud puckered beneath her own touch. More of those sinful sounds came from her mouth.

This was wrong… but oh, how pleasurable it felt to enjoy these illicit touches. She switched to her other breast, lest it feel neglected. That marvellous ache inside only grew; it was like a hunger, but not one that food could satiate.

And soon, she had pulled the nightgown over her head and exposed her heated skin to the evening chill. When had she become so wanton?

But there was none here but herself and that strange moss-covered statue. 

Rey sank to the ground, barely in control of her own body. She felt _everything_ \- the dewy caress of individual blades of grass, the tickle of a breeze at her temples, the meandering caress of her fingers as they wandered lower, and touched the aching dampness at the apex of her thighs.

Her skin _sang_ under those attentions. Harder and faster she pressed, moaning louder and playing with her breasts with her free hand.

In her mind, she imagined the hand rubbing at her sex belonged to another. A tall, dark haired man with glittering eyes and a low voice. He told her she was beautiful, and perfect, and…

Something exploded behind her eyes, with the colours and intensity of a firework. Her skin grew cool, and that greedy bundle of nerves between her legs was suddenly too sensitive, too much.

Shame bloomed within Rey, washing away those pleasant feelings. How many rules of society and decorum had she broken tonight? And how quickly she had allowed herself to descend into debauchery and wanton behaviours. 

This garden no longer felt like a sanctuary; and she swore she would never again return here.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lessons in herbalism, an Alderaanian delegation and a mysterious stranger...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The word fairy was overly generous, and we now have a three-shot rather than a two-shot. 🙈
> 
> The final chapter is written and will be posted tomorrow...

Almost overnight, Bazine developed a new zeal for Rey's education. Gone were the impromptu history lessons, the poetry readings, the evenings spent discussing myths as they gazed at the constellations. It was time, she announced, for more practical schooling.

From under her mattress, Bazine pulled out an ancient leather tome, whose spine was cracked and pages well-thumbed from use. "Even Armitage doesn't know about this particular book," she said with a conspiratorial wink as she passed the volume to Rey. 

Every page was filled with cramped (but legible) handwriting, and beautiful illustrations of different plants. Rey ran her fingers over a sketch of the white flowers of a hemlock plant. 

This text was to form the crux of her tuition henceforth.

Instead of reciting lists of ancient Kings and Queens of Jakku, Bazine made her list the properties and appearances of different plants. Camomile for calm, garlic for fevers, nettle for gout. 

Needlepoint was replaced by sparring. Snoke would never have permitted them to have _actual_ swords, and though Prince Armitage might chance his father's wrath by smuggling in books with his every visit, there was no way he would bring them any _real_ weapons. But wooden staffs made a decent substitute.

"If you can beat me," Bazine said one day as she pulled Rey up from the floor, "Then I'll give you whatever you want - within reason." She winked at Rey, and proceeded to thrash her another three times before luncheon was served.

It took several months of daily training, but Rey _finally_ won one of their sparring matches (which Bazine blamed on fatigue from her own recent moon's blood, even though pride sparkled in her eyes). For her prize, she claimed one of Bazine's novels. 

Her companion merely chuckled. "Well, since you're sixteen now… But they're not terribly realistic, at least in my experience."

That night, reading in bed by candlelight when Bazine had _finally_ fallen asleep, Rey understood why she had never been permitted to touch these books before.

For they were heavily concerned with the subject of intercourse.

Every few pages were passages that waxed lyrical about lusty love lances and women being split asunder by their lover's throbbing member. Rey had never blushed at reading a book before, but she was positively scarlet at this one. Perhaps she had simply chosen the raunchiest volume… 

If reading about copulation was embarrassing, then hearing Bazine talk about it was _mortifying_. Worst of all, she chose to initiate that conversation not when she was in her cups, but casually as they broke their fast one morning.

Rey would never look at smoked kippers again without blood rushing to the face at the memory of _that_ conversation.

"You and I are privileged in a lot of ways, Rey," Bazine said in between gulps of sweet tea. "But not when it comes to lovemaking. The lower classes of women - they can marry for love, and for them, intercourse may be a joy. But for us...” She grimaced. “We are to be traded in marriage pacts for the betterment of men and kings, regarded as political tools and animals for breeding. Interourse, for us, is to be endured rather than enjoyed."

Though Rey had sworn never to return to that hidden garden that had caused her to throw away all sense, that promise did not last. Whether she sought it out of her own volition, or awoke unexpectedly there, her visits grew in frequency.

Bazine's words reminded Rey that, as a woman of status, her body would not always be her own. One day (and perhaps soon, and with little notice), she would be expected to fill the role of wife, bedmate and eventually, mother. Her body would be a tool for her husband's lust and passion, a vessel to carry his seed and bear his children. 

But whilst she remained unwed, she would take whatever pleasures her body could offer her. She would learn to wring every moment of physical joy from herself, unravel again and again from the ministrations of her fingers, and fantasise of a dark haired man with a kind smile, who would love her only in dreams.

* * *

There was a snap of autumn cold in the air the evening the first riot began. Bazine had been interrogating Rey on the properties of milk thistle when they spotted a plume of smoke rising above the castle.

In the distance, they saw flames lick at buildings in one of Niima's lower districts. The air filled with shouts and curses, and great swells of people filled the streets.

Bazine clucked. "Oh dear… It seems my father has rather upset the populace. The inevitable consequences of tyranny, I suppose." She placed a hand on Rey's shoulder. "I fear things are about to get interesting for us…"

A frisson of fear travelled down her spine. "What do you mean?"

"Perhaps I have been somewhat neglectful of your political education… Either my father cannot subdue this little rebellion, and is overthrown and executed along with his kin," she motioned between herself and Rey, "Or he can, but needs to make a political alliance to strengthen his position - and the easiest way to do that is through marriage."

A leaden weight settled in Rey's gut.

* * *

Despite Bazine's troubled words, it took several years (and the marriage of his son Prince Armitage to a Hayseian princess) to finally quash the rebellion.

To Rey, every day felt the ticking of a clock until Snoke announced that she too would be married.

Bazine tried to calm her by teaching her of concoctions to quench a man's libido, to lull him to sleep, and to forestall and prevent conception. 

And one afternoon, Bazine eventually relented and began to teach Rey about poisons. "I pray that this is knowledge you never have need to call upon," she said with a rueful expression. "But should you find yourself in need of it… Promise me that you will be more careful than I was."

Rey nodded, her throat strangely dry. 

In the seven years they had spent as companions, Rey had never asked anything about Bazine's marriage and it's murderous end. In the early days, she had been frightened of falling afoul of Bazine and her unnatural, deadly urges. But, as the years passed, she had come to see her companion as an unconventional and unapologetic woman in an unforgiving society. A woman who - despite her sarcasm and detachment - was capable of great love and tenderness.

Rey feared to know what had forced Bazine to such a desperate act.

And with equal fervour, she feared what pronouncements Snoke might have for _her_ in the coming weeks and months…

Eventually, when Rey grew too distracted to focus, Bazine poured her a large goblet of emerald wine. They sat on the balcony, enjoying the last days of summer before autumn's descent upon Jakku.

Their silent reverie was pierced by the sound of trumpets from below. Rey's fingers dug into the armrest of her chair as the castle gates opened, and a small procession entered. Though several floors up she could see only scant details, a nervous anticipation filled her. Was her future husband among the dignitaries arriving in Niima today?

The procession bore banners of deepest blue, and even from her perch she saw the glint of golden threads woven through as they caught the fading sunlight.

"Do you recognise that heraldry?" Bazine asked quietly. Rey shook her head. "That flag, my dear, is from the Kingdom of Alderaan. It has been many generations since an Alderaanian monarch set foot in Jakku."

"Why is that?"

Bazine snorted. "Because they are a much more progressive and cultured kingdom than us - certainly in how they treat our sex. Their throne is occupied by a woman, who rules alone. Her husband was an adventurer of low birth, and her daughter stands to inherit the throne one day, though she has two younger sons." A sad smile tugged at her lips. "You could do worse than an Alderaanian husband, Rey. Your grandfather was our ambassador to Alderaan for many years, and he was much beloved. The name Kenobi likely still carries some weight in those lands." Bazine began to rub at her eyes with rather too much roughness. When she spoke again, there was an unfamiliar thickness to her voice. "Well then… it seems I shall be getting my privacy back soon - and there I was worrying that our conversations were on the verge of becoming stale."

With those words, she swept back indoors. 

Rey was convinced she heard a muffled sob before the door to their bedchamber slammed closed.

* * *

That night, Rey crept out of the tower, and fumbled along the ivy covered walls until she found her hidden sanctuary once more. For who knew how many more nights she might come here, before being shipped off as an Alderaanian lord's bride?

As soon as that nauseatingly sweet perfume hit her lungs, desperate hands tore at her nightgown. She laid down upon the bench, the marble cool against her burning skin. 

She touched herself without finesse or delicacy, chasing her peak with feverish abandon. Lewd, wet sounds of arousal mixed with her moans as she climbed, every moment growing closer to absolute bliss.

Until she heard a gasp rent the silence.

Rey started, groping for her night dress to cover her nudity. Frightened eyes searched the garden.

Her intruder was a man, perhaps the same age as herself, with dark hair and odd, angular features. His garb was of rich blue velvet, and there was a book - a book! - tucked under his arm. He was staring at her slack jawed and with wonder in his eyes.

She ought to have been mortified. She ought to have hastily dressed and ran; or screamed at him.

But whatever fragrance permeated the air here had always smothered any sense of propriety and decorum. And worse, Rey _enjoyed_ it.

So she dropped her nightgown, and let him see her nude.

Breaths escaped him in short pants. He ran a hand through his hair and even in the moonlight, she saw the scarlet flush upon his cheeks. He stared at her as though he had never seen a woman bare before. Perhaps he was as virginal as she?

That thought emboldened her.

So she laid down once more, and her hands resumed their worship of her body. Her strokes were harder, quicker, her moans louder.

 _Touch me…_ she silently begged. _Please_...

Rey heard the book fall to the ground with a dull thud, followed by the rustle of clothing. When she turned her head to look upon the stranger again, he too was bare.

She had read enough from Bazine's library to have imagined what an aroused male would look like nude. 

The real thing was _better._

His cock was rigid, dark against the pale skin of his abdomen. He knelt upon the grass, and began to stroke it like a man possessed. Guttural moans spilled from his lips. Their eyes met across the garden as each touched themselves until they cried out in mutual release. 

Once her heartbeat had slowed and her skin cooled, waves of nauseating shame overcame Rey. Without meeting the stranger’s gaze, she dressed and fumbled along the ivy covered walls until the garden revealed its exit.

Tucked back in her own bed later that night, tears pricked at Rey's eyes. What awful, unnatural, wanton creature had she become, baring her body to some stranger beneath the moonlight? And why, despite the shame of her actions and the relief of her release, did she still _ache_ deep in her belly?

And why did she hope that tomorrow night, they might meet once more in that hidden enclave to gaze upon each other as they chased their ruin and rapture?

* * *

It came as no surprise when Snoke appeared at the door of their quarters the following morning, one of his crow familiars perched atop his shoulder. 

Despite maintaining as calm a facade as she could, Rey had worked herself to a frenzy. The prospect of a looming marriage to a stranger was nothing compared to the humiliation of Snoke learning that she had snuck out and pleasured herself before a man… Never mind an oubliette - it would be the hang man's noose or the executioner's block for her. Breakfast went untouched, and she had worried her lip between her teeth for so long that she broke the skin and drew blood.

But on seeing the King’s ebullient mood that morning, Rey breathed a sigh of relief. Whomever that handsome stranger was, he was at least _discrete_ in his indiscretions. Or perhaps as abashed as Rey herself. But it did not matter the reason for his silence, as long as he maintained it. 

For both their sakes.

"I shall be leaving for a few days on a hunting party with some of our guests," Snoke announced with a cruel glint in his eye. He relished in bloodlust, and at least spearing a boar was an acceptable outlet for that before his dignified guests. Neighbouring monarchs tended to be reticent in the face of his preferred indulgence via mass public executions. "In the meantime, the Alderaanian Queen has requested a luncheon with my daughter and my ward." His mouth snapped into a frown. "I trust you will both act in a manner not to embarrass me in my absence." Long fingers caressed the head of his crow. "Pryde here shall watch over you to ensure your behaviour does not disgrace me." His eyes narrowed upon Rey. "There may be a husband waiting for you amongst the Alderaanian ranks, Lady Kenobi. Let that be both of your incentives to behave."

To both Rey and Bazine's surprise, when a knock came upon the door some hours later, the Alderaanian Queen did not appear. Instead, one of Snoke's advisors, pallid and shaking, stammered for them to follow him.

Rey watched Bazine closely as she stepped over the doorway. Though she tried to maintain a calm facade, her eyes swam with fears and excitement. 

Rey had made numerous illicit sojourns from their tower over the last seven years; but it had been Bazine's prison for even longer. With every few steps, her gaze snapped back to the mahogany door that had been the boundary of her world. She walked not with the pride or imperiousness of her rank; but with the anxious steps of a prisoner who feared being clapped back in chains once more.

Luncheon was to take place not in one of the castle's dining rooms, but in the rose garden at the fringes of the West Wing. Blossoms of every colour erupted amidst the greenery and the air was heavily perfumed - but thankfully absent of that drugged scent which always caused Rey to abandon her morals.

The table spread laid out was clearly for the benefit of impressing their royal guest. Cured meats and fish, fresh vegetables and fruits, a carafe of emerald wine and sweet tarts decorated with berries that glistened like jewels.

Bazine had spent the morning critiquing Rey's attempts at curtseying, and there was a tremor in the younger woman's frame as she bowed before the Alderaanian Queen.

Leia Organa-Solo had smiled at Rey even as she cast a scrutinizing eye over her. A flush crept over her skin, but she held the Queen's eye until her expression dissolved into a smile. Suddenly, she found herself with the older woman's arms around her. She smelled of lavender - ordinary and familiar, and Rey felt a strange fondness for the Queen wash over her.

"Your grandfather was a dear friend of mine," Queen Leia whispered into Rey's hair. She pulled back and brushed a loose hair from the girl's brow. Her fingers were soft, and her eyes glistened with tears. "I named my youngest son after him. And I am delighted to meet you at long last."

Her greeting to Bazine was no less warm - perhaps the scandalous nature of the Duke of Takodana's demise had not reached Alderaan? Or perhaps Queen Leia was simply unfailingly polite.

Luncheon was a pleasant affair - the queen immediately dispensed with all pretense of rank, and insisted on being called Leia instead of "Your Highness." 

As they dined, Leia enquired about their lives and interests. Bazine had clearly anticipated these questions, and the lies fell easily from her lips. Their absence at court was explained away as spending time in the countryside for the good of Bazine's health. 

Queen Leia quirked a single elegant eyebrow. "Clearly the country air has done wonders for your constitution. One would never know you were in ill health at all." And Bazine, raised amongst courtiers with their back-handed compliments and double-speak, merely smiled indulgently.

Leia then turned her attention to Rey. She asked of her hobbies, her taste in literature (of which her recent persuausls of Bazine's raunchy library went unmentioned), and other matters of no consequence.

"I enjoy reading poetry," Rey said. "I am told that Alderaanian poetry is very beautiful, but I have not yet had the pleasure of reading any." 

That answer seemed to please the queen. "My son Ben - the one named after your grandfather - is a lover of our nation's poetry. I do wish his father had not insisted on dragging him on that hunting trip - he is a scholar, and would have been far happier supping with us and discussing literature." Her eyes gleamed with pride as she spoke of her son. "I suspect you and he would be a good match."

A low whistle escaped Bazine's lips. She blinked, and hastily tried to disguise it behind a cough. 

"Perhaps the country air has not been the cure for your affliction after all, Lady Bazine," Leia said evenly, though Rey spotted the tiny smile the queen hid behind her goblet.

* * *

"Well, _Lady Kenobi_ ," Bazine said as she stripped off her golden robes once they were back in their quarters in the West Wing, "It appears that I may have to curtsy to you in the near future."

The implications of Bazine's words washed over Rey, and she stood mute for some minutes. 

Of course, she had long known that a political marriage would be in her future; and of course, she understood the implications of the Alderaanian delegation's arrival… but the haste with which her nuptials might soon be upon her left Rey dizzy.

She slept uneasily. Bazine too spent the night tossing and turning, and Rey did not dare risk sneaking out and trying to find her sanctuary or her stranger.

When Snoke arrived back from his hunting trip, she knew the process of negotiating for her hand would begin. And the unspoken implications of Bazine's marriage settled over Rey like a black cloud.

Weeping would do her no good. Rage, whilst satisfying, would leave her no less impotent about the situation. Instead, as she stared at the ceiling beams, Rey fought hard not to think of this man she might soon find herself wedded to.

 _Ben._ She tried to vocalise the name, but it felt heavy and cloying upon her tongue. 

Queen Leia had given her scant details of the man - only that he was educated, and gentle, and a lover of literature (though what he might say to her own recent reading habits elicited a weak chuckle from her). But could Rey really trust his mother's assessment to be unbiased?

Would she even _meet_ him before their betrothal was decided?

* * *

Snoke's enthusiasm upon his return from the hunting trip was unparalleled. The prospect of a treaty with Alderaan, sealed with his ward's marriage to their prince, meant he was positively euphoric. Rey half expected to be stuffed into a silk gown and marched to the cathedral before dusk.

However, she knew that she had at least a few day's reprieve. Snoke would drive a hard bargain for her hand; and Rey doubted that Leia Organa-Solo would offer him an easy negotiation. 

The next few days were spent in a state of nervous anticipation. Rey paced the floor until Bazine snapped that she was wearing a hole in the rug. She tried reading but the words seemed to blur on the page, and she abandoned the text after only a few minutes. After much cajoling, she convinced Bazine to spar with her for an hour or so. Though a visceral release of tension - and the satisfaction of victory through combat - offered her a break from the turmoil of her mind, come dinner time Rey was back to ruminating.

Bazine too seemed on edge. Her goblet was never far from her lips, and before the meal’s end, the carafe of wine was empty and her pale skin flushed. Her words were a little slurred, and there was a decided lack of grace in her steps as she stumbled to bed.

No, Rey thought as she heard Bazine's snores echo in the emptiness of their quarters some hours later, she needed a different means of relaxing.

And so she crept out to the garden.

Every year, the trellis became more difficult to climb down. She supposed it could more readily handle the weight of a twelve year old than an adult woman - but she had yet to plummet to her death, and perhaps that knowledge made her reckless.

As soon as her feet hit the ground, she ran, hands frantically scrambling along the castle walls, seeking wherever the garden's concealed entrance would choose to appear tonight…

When she burst through a curtain of ivy, her heartbeat so fierce she thought the organ might burst from her chest, she found the garden already occupied. 

That handsome stranger from her last visit was knelt on the grass, touching himself as he had before. Moonlight caught rivulets of sweat cascading down his bare torso. Rey felt her skin grow feverish at the sight, arousal coiling within her.

Wordlessly, she peeled the night dress from her body. The cool air of the night and his hungry stare puckered her nipples before she could even touch them. She leaned back against the ivy, overly aware of everything from the tickle of the leaves to the bead of sweat on her upper lip to the aching dampness between her legs…

Like before - like she had dozens of times before - she let the perfumed air wash over her, and began to pleasure herself.

Their moans and cries filled the air with a beautiful melody. They drank in the sight of one another's bodies, goading each other without words as they chased their individual raptures.

When they unravelled as one, the world dissolved until there was only them. 

Rey wanted to touch him; feel the hard muscles of his chest, the softness of his hair and the scorching heat of his skin. She wanted to kiss him, bite him, spread her legs for him and let him fuck her on the grass, on the bench, against the wall… 

But _that_ was a misdemeanor too far.

Instead, they took turns at the fountain, washing the sweat and lingering arousal from their skin. No words passed between them, but before he vanished into the world again, her stranger gave her a single, bashful nod.

_Thank you._

She nodded in return. _You're welcome._

* * *

Rey tried as best she could to live her days as though nothing momentous were on the cusp of taking place. Every day was as ordinary and monotonous as it had been before Queen Leia's arrival.

She and Bazine broke their fast each morning, and made meaningless comments about the weather. They read, and worked on their needlepoint, or sketched before lunch. They sparred in the afternoon, before retreating back to their books in the afternoon.

And though she tried to appear unaffected, Bazine's gaze seemed to drift towards Rey frequently, her eyes sad and glassy. Her lips would part, but no words would be uttered before she turned away. Of course, Bazine would never admit that she might actually _miss_ Rey. Sentiment was not in her nature. 

Yet, after seven years with little company beyond each other, dining together, bathing together and sharing their lives, an affection had developed between them. Bazine's recent callousness towards her was merely a symptom of her fear of losing Rey, and facing countless quiet and lonely years.

Nearly two weeks passed before Snoke visited them again. Despite his jubilant appearance, Rey read the weariness beneath his grin. Queen Leia had evidently been every bit as shrewd as she appeared. Whatever bargain had been settled between them had a battle - perhaps not one of bloodshed, but a battle nonetheless.

"Well, _beloved daughter,"_ he told Bazine with a twisted smile. "It seems that you shall have to sacrifice your companion for the good of the realm."

"I have made worse sacrifices for your kingdom, _father_ ," she said venomously, even as she kept a smile plastered to her lips.

Snoke chuckled. "That you have, Bazine." He crooked a finger to beckon Rey closer. "Tomorrow evening, we shall announce your betrothal to the Prince of Alderaan. Queen Leia drove a hard bargain for your hand, little Rey," he said, cupping her cheek. She could not suppress the shudder at the icy cold of his hand. "I do hope that you will not flinch at your betrothed's touch - for I suspect he will not be able to keep his hands off you once you are wed." His eyes snapped to Bazine's. "I trust you have educated her at some point on the particulars of her marital duties?"

Heat filled Rey's cheeks. To read about the act, or hear Bazine discuss it was one thing. But for a man… for _Snoke_ … to bring it up… She shuddered.

Bazine gave her father a cold smile. "Indeed, father. Rey knows what is expected of her."

"Hmmm…" A sceptical look crossed his features. "Perhaps I shall send my beloved daughter-in-law to ensure your education comes from a… _reputable_ source. Goodness knows what strange ideas Bazine has been filling your head with, young Rey." His eyes flicked around their quarters. "I shall send servants to help you pack your belongings. The Queen intends on returning to Alderaan before the week's end, and you shall be accompanying her."

Less than a week to say goodbye to her home, her prison… to Bazine… 

And to her stranger… 

Every night since, Rey had met him in the garden; shared more of this deliciously illicit moments of rapture.

This was dangerous. Given she was mere weeks away from becoming a Prince's wife, this was practically treason. 

But the sight of her stranger's lust filled eyes, the moans as he pleasured himself to the sight of her… it almost felt worth the risk.

If tonight was to be their last ever meeting… she would ensure it was burned into her memories forever.

* * *

Bazine's tears - once she dispensed with her aloof face and allowed herself to grieve - were still drying on the shoulder of Rey's night gown when she crept out to the garden for the final time.

"You can sneak out to wherever you go when you think I'm asleep," Bazine had whispered. "Enjoy your last night of freedom. Just… don't come back with any marks. Or anything…unexpected."

She kissed Bazine on the cheek and slipped out into the night.

By the time she reached the ground, Rey's heart was in her throat. She burst into a run, fingers fumbling along the ivy for wherever the hidden door to her sanctuary would appear tonight. 

As she rounded the corner, she collided with another body. One already achingly familiar to her, and beloved in a way she could never express outside her own thoughts.

Part of Rey wondered if it was the magic of the garden that drew her to this stranger. Seeing him outside that liminal place, in a world where rules still existed, felt foreign. But even without that intoxicating perfume, her breath hitched at the sight of him.

His eyes - brown, she noted, now that she was close enough to see - raked over her clothed form. Gooseflesh spread over her arms, even as she flushed at his regard. Her lips grew dry, and he watched with unconcealed desire as her tongue darted out to wet them.

Coming here, on the eve of her betrothal, was a sin. It was madness.

But she wanted this. Wanted him, if only for this night before she became the _property_ of another man. 

Rey held out her hand; his own fingers, their pads stained with ink, quivered as he reached for her.

And wordlessly, they stepped away from the world and into her - no, _their_ \- secret enclave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm, I wonder who that stranger could be... 👁👄👁


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tonight, every unspoken agreement between them would shatter. 
> 
> Tonight they would _touch_.
> 
> Tonight, they would _talk_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And onto the third and final chapter!
> 
> This prompt story grew significantly out of the one-shot I had intended it to be. It's allowed to me to play with different characters and some different tropes as well, and I have loved every second of writing it. Thank you to the wonderful writers over at The Workshop for their unending support, encouragement and friendship!

Tonight, every unspoken agreement between them would shatter. 

Tonight they would _touch_.

Tonight, they would _talk_.

No words of consequence passed between them - not even their names. Rey knew this to be for the best. Once her marriage pact was sealed, and she lay beneath Ben Solo - spread and obedient even as she fantasized about another man - she did not want a different name to fall from her lips. Let her stranger be the man she cherished in dreams only.

This time, Rey did not peel away her nightgown. It was his hands - huge and warm, with yet more ink smudges on the heel of the right - which tugged at her laces and slid the garment down her body. Those hands she had watched palm himself to a violent release now caressed her with gossamer soft touches.

It was _she_ who was the feral, desperate one. She ripped the shirt from his body and pressed his naked torso to hers, half-intoxicated with the delicious warmth of his flesh. 

Her bare skin should not be a revelation to him; not when he has seen her bare so many times before. But the act of undressing her himself, of _touching_ her… Wonder filled his eyes. 

In the moonlight, their faces but a breath apart, Rey tried to memorize him. The moles on his face, every flicker of amber in his dark eyes, the sweep of his midnight black hair. The nervous swallow before he bent his head to kiss her. He tasted of plum wine and garlic. His hair, like threads of jet black silk, smelled of lavender, and sweat. Every taste and every scent she wrote into her memory.

They poured every desire and every regret into the brushes of their lips and the clash of their tongues. Eagerness was as much a hindrance as a help - their teeth clacked, and they parted to share a giggle.

Her stranger was gentle; he touched her with the delicacy of a butterfly's wing. His thumb traced a circle around the puckered bud of her breast, eliciting a low moan from her throat. That sound he swallowed in another of his drugging kisses.

Then, his tongue moved to lap at her breasts, whispering rapturous praise against her skin. 

Bazine’s words purred in Rey’s mind. She threaded a hand through her lover’s hair. His eyes, now black with his lust, regarded her quizzically.

“No marks,” she said, shocked at the rasp in her voice. 

Her lover nodded. “No marks,” he repeated, his voice low and soft like velvet, before he resumed his ministrations. The only sounds were her soft moans, and the wet lap of his tongue against her flesh. What delicious sounds could that tongue make against the slickness between her thighs? 

As if he had plucked that thought from her, his lips trailed lower. Past the dip in her waist, past downy curls, until they hovered over that wonderful spot he had watched her lavish with attention with her fingers every night they had shared in this place.

"Tell me to stop," he said, his breath ghosting over slick and heated flesh. 

“Don’t,” she said. “ _Please…”_

And oh! He kissed her _there_ , and the very world melted away. 

If Rey had ever doubted that he was as untouched as she, his hesitation was proof enough. Even with this strange, intoxicating perfume, his movements were slow, gauging her reaction. That notion thrilled and devastated her. He _cared_ for her pleasure; her body was not a tool to slake his lusts upon, a vessel for his seed, but an instrument to be played.

Her vision clouded, the next blink knocking loose her tears.

Soon, his gentle kisses were not enough. _More,_ she cried silent, as she slid her own hand down her body, and she began to circle that bundle of flesh. He watched, fascinated, before continuing to kiss her sex in time with the caresses from her own fingers.

Through half-lidded eyes, Rey watched one of his hand trail lower until he began to stroke his cock. She had never witnessed him touch himself so slowly… until she realised he was not chasing his own climax, merely taking the edge off while he chased her pleasure first.

His free hand trailed up her leg, knuckles brushing against her folds, now drenched from his kisses.

“May I?” His voice was strained, like a bow stretched taut until it was ready to snap.

Sense screamed at her to tell him no; she had never even pleasured herself inside with her fingers. She was to remain pure and untouched until her wedding night, when her _husband_ would claim her virginity. 

Instead, Rey nodded.

Her lover’s control was better than hers, no matter the tightness in his voice. His lips resumed their gentle attentions, and he teased her entrance for a few minutes until she was thrusting desperately against him. Wanton. So very wanton…

He wet a finger with a slick _pop_ before sliding it into her sex. There was no blinding pain, no gush of blood. Just a stretch before he began to fuck her with that single digit as he suckled on that greedy bundle of nerves.

Oh gods, such exquisite _ache…_ Stars were born and died behind her eyes with his every kiss, every caress, until she burned for him and him alone.

She should never have allowed him to touch her, a rational voice admonished. For now that she knew his touch, she would not be satisfied until he had sheathed his cock - flushed, leaking and pathetically eager as he continued to tease it with the slow strokes of his own hand - within her, taken her maidenhood and ruined her.

But _ah_ , what a way to fall.

Barely had she caught her breath before she flipped their positions in the grass to straddle him. Her soaked cunt pressed against his cock, and they groaned as one at the contact.

This was the moment; the betrayal whose scar she would always bear on the inside, marking her as a harlot, a fallen woman. Words were meaningless. She sought permission with gaze alone. Her stranger nodded. 

Rey sank onto him, sheathing him to the hilt and surrendering her body to his.

To her surprise, this final act, this irrevocable joining of their bodies, did not hurt as she had expected. In every tale from Bazine’s library, the virginal heroine would yelp or weep as her maidenhood was torn. But here, all Rey felt was an unfamiliar stretch, swallowed in an overwhelming feeling of _rightness._ Of belonging.

She tried to find a rhythm, rocking back and forth, teasing him with slow delicious slides. And if they had a lifetime, she would have been content to persevere.

But all they had - all they would _ever_ have - was this night. And Rey would not waste a second of it, when she could be enjoying him and his body.

As one, they rolled over so that Rey lay upon her back in the grass. His cock slipped out of her, and both of them whimpered at the loss of contact. Every second they were not touching, not welded as a single body, felt like time squandered. The shifting moon across the sky counted down the hours until they would be forever parted.

What would it like, she wondered, to view this moment from above? Golden and pale limbs entwined, two bodies performing the most ancient of dances. 

With a kiss, he entered her again. Each snap of his hips to hers was urgent, desperate. Passion, pleasure, arousal, ache, all coursed through her body like poison. The slap of wet skin, sloppy kisses, sharing their moans barely a breath apart… These moments were the most intense of Rey's short life. So beautiful, and yet so _painful_. Her eyes continued to spill their tears, and they were joined by his, two salty trails mixed with the sweat of their exertions and the taste of their kisses.

Every moment was an attack on her senses. Too much touch, too much tenderness, too many small details she tried to memorize. She would never be able to smell lavender again nor drink plum wine without mourning for him, and the lifetime of love and pleasure denied to them.

 _Love…_ they had scarcely spoken two dozen words, and yet Rey felt she could have grown to love him, adore him. 

The cadence of his breathing changed; without warning, her lover tore himself from her body. He knelt between her spread legs, stroking his cock like a man demented for mere moments before he reached his peak, his hot seed raining upon her abdomen.

Rey stared up at him, watched the moonlight paint his skin silver, traced the bead of sweat that ran from chest, past his naval, before being lost in the coarse hairs around his cock. Some dark, hungry part of her wanted his seed to burn into her flesh, mark her with a tangible reminder of this night when she was his, and he was hers.

Once he had caught his breath, he leaned forward to kiss her. His fingers brushed her cheek, knuckles trailing downwards to tease her nipples, before he touched her sex once more.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he murmured. “Your skin… it's so soft and beautiful. You are beautiful.” And with gentle fingers, he guided her to another climax. Her spine arched as her cries filled the air, mingled with a sob she could not stifle.

They laid side by side in the dewy grass, his lips dropping kisses into her hair and against the column of her throat, her fingers tracing the ridges of his spine and drawing patterns from the moles upon his chest. 

They could lie here all night; wait for their arousal to stir again, make love until the stars dissolved behind a grey dawn. But every moment they dawdled was a moment closer to being caught, with every terrifying consequence…

As one, they rose, and crossed the garden to the fountain. The water was cool and refreshing against skin still hot from their passions. With gentle hands that lingered a moment too long, they washed the sweat and tears and kisses from each other's bodies. 

Wordlessly they dressed one another, the silence punctuated by their quiet sobs. Once they were outwardly presentable, Rey tugged on the collar of his tunic to pull his mouth to hers in a tear-stained kiss. His lips - softer than any man's lips had the right to be - brushed hers with such tenderness, at odds with the urgency of their lovemaking. There was no burning desire anymore; the garden's fragrance could choke them with its intoxicating lust, but they would not rush this final kiss.

And when they parted, his brow pressed to hers so close it was almost _painful,_ Rey felt her heart shatter.

He left first; his murmured goodbye barely audible over the trickle of the fountain. 

And once he was gone - _forever_ \- Rey knelt at the base of the moss-covered statue and wept her eyes raw.

She clutched the pedestal of the statue for support. Her legs felt weak. Fingers dug into the moss and began to tear at it, ripping whole chunks of foliage away with a scream. 

Such a cruel, _cruel_ place… to let her taste this moment of love and passion with her stranger before they were forever torn asunder. She wanted to burn the garden to ashes, bludgeon the statue until her fists were broken and bloodied, pour salt upon the dirt until not even weeds grew here.

Eventually, the moss fell away against her assault, and she stared into the marble face of the winged god of desire. Crumbling to dust was too good a fate for the scar he and his lust-filled garden had torn into her soul.

As the stars faded, Rey realized the lateness of the hour. She turned to leave this accursed place _forever_ ; but at the corner of her eye, she spotted a cluster of white flowers.

She had never spotted this particular bloom before, but she knew it well from her perusal of Bazine’s secret book. _Water hemlock…_

Perhaps the universe was offering her a way out?

With deft fingers, she plucked a few sprigs of the plant, and tucked them into her gown before slipping into the night.

* * *

The sun hung high over the castle when Rey finally stirred from her slumber. She found her pillow saturated with yet more tears, her head aching, and Bazine staring at her with a look akin to regret, before her features snapped to mask-like formality.

“You missed breakfast,” she said tartly, pouring Rey a cup of lukewarm tea and handing her a sweet pastry. “The betrothal will be announced in six hours - barely enough time to get you presentable for your prince. Oh,” she added almost as an afterthought as Rey poked her pastry with a fork. “A gift from your betrothed arrived this morning.” Bazine quirked her head at a brown paper parcel on the table.

Rey stared morosely at the package - a book, she supposed, given how Queen Leia had described her son - and debated whether to even open it. But curiosity was a potent temptation. She tore into the wrapping with the same ferocity that had stripped centuries of moss from that statue in the garden.

It _was_ a book - one filled with poetry written in a neat, meticulous script. Rey was unfamiliar with the rhymes, and she flicked to the front of the book.

In lieu of a title page, she found a note addressed to her. 

_My dearest lady Kenobi,_

_My mother talks of you fondly - a feat not easily achieved, I assure you, as her regard is hard won and easily lost._

_In the course of her praises, my mother assures me that we have much in common; that you too are a lover of literature. She also informs me that you are unfamiliar with the poetry of our land. I hope you will not think me biased if I confess I find Alderaanian poetry to be the most beautiful and lyrical words ever put to voice or parchment. Many a day was spent with my boyhood tutors copying and reciting these works._

_I hope you will not find this gesture impertinent, but I have scribbled some of my favourites down. These words have been my beauty and my comfort in times of loneliness. Perhaps you too will find some joy in them._

_It seems so odd that my tailors are measuring me for my wedding garments when I have yet to meet you, my future wife. Alas, I cannot know your thoughts and feelings on the matter of our upcoming nuptials. Are you nervous? I confess that I am._

_I suppose it is harder for you, because you will have to leave your home. Perhaps you love it here, and the thought of departing breaks your heart. Perhaps you are afraid that I will not treat you well, as so many of my sex are guilty of towards their wives. Perhaps you had another whom you longed for, and our betrothal has snatched away any dreams of your future that you might have held. If this is the case, then I want to offer you my profoundest apologies. Our lives and our hearts are sadly not our own to govern. Whilst I can make few assurances about what our marriage will be like, I can offer you a single promise with every fibre of my being. I will always respect you, and though love may never blossom between us, it is my fervent hope that we may at least find friendship and affection._

_In a few hours, we shall finally meet. Alas, we will likely have little time to speak intimately. I have pleaded with my mother for a less formal introduction than a betrothal ceremony, but I understand that this would do against your country's customs, and I would not wish to disrespect you or your traditions. I am not sure if even this correspondence between us is forbidden; but I could stomach the idea that you lived in fear of me. I may not be whom - or what - you wished for, but I hope I can find a place in your regard and your heart, as I will find for you in my own._

_Tomorrow, we leave for Alderaan. The journey will be long, and I hope it may afford us some time to talk and begin the long process of learning one another's habits and likes._

_Until then, I look forward to our meeting at long last._

_Yours,_

_Ben._

Only when the ink of his name began to run did Rey realise she was crying. Her thumb brushed over a smudge at the corner of the page. Thoughts of another set of ink stained fingers, and the pleasure they had teased from her body last night consumed her.

Guilt crashed over her like a tidal wave. She would never regret last night, the passion she had shared with her anonymous lover etched onto her very bones. But she would have to bury him deep inside her heart. The man whose words she cradled in this book evidently wanted their marriage to be happy. Though she knew not his face, he had laid bare his heart in ink for her. 

She would not disrespect his honesty and his kindness by pining for another. No matter that she had already made him a cuckold before they were even married; from that moment forth she would be loyal and would endeavour to find some friendship and affection with him. In these games of politics, he was as much a pawn as she.

Rey started when Bazine placed a warm hand upon her shoulder.

“Come, let’s draw you a bath and ready you to meet your betrothed.” Though she tried to maintain an aloof facade, fondness leached into her tone.

As Rey sank into the warm water, dizzy with the more mundane perfume of the bath oils, Bazine cast a critical eye over her form.

“Well, at least you came back without any scars,” she eventually said, satisfied at finding no evidence of her nocturnal activities. 

Rey blushed to the tips of her hair. _Except the two he left deep inside._

Soon, Bazine was joined by her brother's bride, Princess Rose, to assist with Rey's ablutions before the ceremony. 

Rose was sweet and kind, and Rey regretted that she had not been given the proper opportunity to get to know her before. She had visited them with Prince Armitage on a few occasions, but never alone. Her humour and wit suggested that, in another lifetime, they might have been the most intimate of friends.

Rose carded gentle fingers through Rey's hair, weaving it into a simple braid. “Braids are important in Alderaanian culture,” she murmured. “I can't promise this will be as lovely as what one of their ladies would do, but I can try.”

A watery smile was all Rey could muster, even as Bazine chided her not to cry as it would cause her makeup to run.

Both women helped her into a deep green gown - the colour of the Kenobi house. Despite the fact that Snoke had executed her parents, locked her away and made her ancestors _persona non grata_ amongst his own court, he had evidently played up her lineage to make her an attractive marriage prospect to the Alderaanians.

Once Rey was attired, Rose and Bazine stepped onto the balcony, ostensibly to admire the festivities below. 

Rey was grateful for these moments of solitude. She cast her eyes around their little quarters for the final time - the bed Bazine had nursed her during her first moon's blood; the fireplace they had traded stories beside; the rug upon which they had sparred, and that illicit library of raunchy tales. Her prison… yet her heart wept to leave here. To leave _Bazine_.

She walked over to her bed, and fumbled beneath the pillow for the white blossoms she had plucked last night. They had begun to wilt, but Rey knew their poison would be no less toxic.

She prayed that the words Ben Organa-Solo had written to her were sincere. But she had spent too long with Bazine to feel confident of anything with regard to her upcoming marriage.

And, as she wrapped the foliage in a scrap of red silk, and tucked it into the cleavage of her dress, she thought that it would not hurt to be prepared...

* * *

Barely had an hour passed before Snoke and Prince Armitage appeared in the West Wing to escort Rey to the betrothal ceremony. 

She remembered little of their walk to the Grand Hall, ignoring the creaking heads of the enchanted armour as it turned to regard their party. Snoke was positively jubilant; Prince Armitage and Rose tried to engage her in idle chatter whilst Bazine trailed behind in moody silence. With every step, the sounds of chatter and laughter from the Great hall grew louder.

How long since Rey had been among so many people? Already her head began to buzz with the beginnings of a headache. Or perhaps that was simply the stab of regret and unrequited love. 

She barely heard Snoke's words as he looped her arm through his - the very image of a proud guardian preparing to offer his beloved foster child in marriage. Rose and Armitage each brushed a kiss to Rey's brow, and murmured words of encouragement that did little to quell the tempest inside her. But Bazine did not approach - even as her fingers twitched as if all she wanted to do was bundle the girl into her arms and never let her go.

And soon, the trumpets began to sound, and the doors to the Grand Hall were thrown open. For the final time, Rey buried the memory of her stranger’s dark eyes and soft lips, of the dreams that would never see daylight. Those wilted blossoms tucked into the bosom of her gown felt suddenly heavy.

She drew in a slow, cold breath, and let Snoke guide her through the doorway. Her eyes were unfocussed; she saw the dip of colour as courtiers bowed before their King and his entourage. A few whispers caught her ears - evidently as Lady Bazine had entered behind them. It had been nearly a decade since her face was last seen in public; and no doubt once Snoke’s ears were otherwise occupied, his errant and murderous daughter would be the talk of the event. Knowing Bazine, she would probably draw a savage pleasure from the attention.

At the far end of the hall stood several figures robed in Aldernaanian blue - at head of the delegation was Queen Leia, looking as regal and poised as she had at their last meeting. The grey haired man by her side, looking utterly uncomfortable with the proceedings and tugging at the collar of his tunic was evidently her husband. _A low born adventurer_ , Bazine had described him as. 

But any musing on her future father-in-law evaporated when Rey locked eyes with the dark haired figure standing between them. His back was to her, his shoulders in a dejected sag. She watched the Queen touch her son’s face, and he gave a nod in return. 

Snoke would not offer her any such sentiment; she meant little to him other than a commodity to be exchanged in a treaty, a nuisance to be rid of. In truth, Rey was relieved; she had always flinched at his icy touch, and it would not bode well if she were to embarrass him before his courtiers or a fellow monarch. 

And then all thoughts fled her mind as they stopped but a few feet before the Alderaanians. Though Rey’s eyes pricked with threatened tears, she would keep her composure intact. Queen Leia gave her a gentle smile - or perhaps that smile was for the benefit of her son, who was no less apprehensive than Rey herself. She heard Ben Solo exhale a shuddering breath, before turning to face his bride with agonising slowness.

The world froze in that moment; Rey huffed a slow gasp that sounded as loud as thunder. For she recognised those wide dark eyes, that pale visage, those parted lips that had kissed her with such ardour last night… 

Ben Solo’s jaw hung slack, before his mouth curled into the most beautiful smile, revealing the dimples in his cheeks. 

What words passed between Snoke and Queen Leia, Rey heard not, so consumed with his oddly foreign feeling of _elation._ She bit her lip to keep her own grin from bursting forth. _This cannot be real… This is a dream…_

Only when her hand was placed in his, his touch so devastatingly familiar that her body trembled, her skin grew hot, and that delicious ache of desire coiled in her belly, did Rey believe that this was real. _He_ was real.

They could not touch as they wanted - for she read every memory of last night, and every continued yearning in his heart in his eyes. She had to content herself with the slow circling of his thumb against her knuckles. His fingers were once again stained with ink, and a warm chuckle escaped her. He merely shrugged.

Their quietude was pierced by an exasperated sigh. Two sets of eyes snapped up to meet Queen Leia’s. “Oh Ben,” his mother sighed, and motioned to the same smudges upon his hands that Rey found utterly charming (and more erotic than she would ever care to acknowledge).

A quiet giggle bubbled in her chest; and Ben's lips filled with a slow, bashful smile.

* * *

The evening passed in a blur. Though she and Ben Solo were seated together throughout the feast, they were not afforded any opportunity to talk privately. Especially not with both Snoke and Queen Leia within earshot. So, Rey had to content herself with the most subtle and hidden of touches. Their little fingers linked for a moment as they rested their hands on the fine tablecloth in between courses. Her slippered foot rubbing over the toe of his fine leather boot. A brush of their knees through too many layers of clothing. Even still, she felt a slickness grow between her legs; and every time she caught his eyes, they glittered with dark promise. 

For all that she had feared and dreaded their upcoming nuptials, now Rey wished for the hours and days to accelerate until they arrived in Alderaan and would be wed. She marvelled at the gracious whim of fate, which for once had not snatched away her dreams.

After a lengthy series of toasts to the health of the couple, the prosperity of their union, and to their respective monarchs, the court musicians began to play a jaunty tune. The room filled with scraping of chairs as various couples stood to dance. 

Ben leaned closed, his breath scented with plum wine that reminded her so much of his kiss. “Would you like to dance, Milady?”

Rey nodded. “Indeed I would, Your Highness.”

Dancing would not afford them the closeness she sought; the delicious press of bare skin against bare skin that had her body quivering with desire. But at least they could talk without the too attentive ears of their guardians. Ben took her hand in his, bringing it to his lips in the most chaste of kisses. They darted between a sea of swaying and twirling bodies, before finding a quiet spot near the edge of the edge of the Grand Hall. 

Rey’s eyes snapped back to the High table, and saw Bazine regarding her with a bemused expression. 

Ben dipped his body in a courtly bow, and she offered a curtsy in return. As the melody shifted, he loosely held her palm in his and they began to circle one another in a dance.

“Thank you for the poetry,” Rey said when the steps pulled them close. “And thank you for your note.”

A flush filled his skin, she saw it trail beneath the collar of his tunic. Her fingers itched to trace it, and reacquaint herself with his body. Last night had been a blur, but now they would have a lifetime together. A lifetime of gentle caresses, warm kisses, and endless nights of indulging in their hunger for one another.

“It seems my words were oddly prescient,” Ben murmured. 

“I found them comforting,” she replied, hoping he saw the sincerity in her gaze. “My heart was breaking this morning-” her voice hitched, and in response, Ben - _Ben!_ \- squeezed her hand a little tighter. “-But I believed that you would be kind to me, and that I could content myself with that.”

“My heart was breaking too,” he said, and his eyes glistened in the torchlight. She wanted to brush her thumb over his cheek, trace the path his tears had taken last night, kiss away every despondency until all they remembered was the pleasure and _love_. 

But not here. Not with too many eyes, too many poisoned tongues who might whisper to their guardians and pour salt on their union before it was even sanctified.

Rey swallowed. “And yet, no matter your agony, you wanted to comfort a stranger who was at the crux of it.” Now her own gaze grew misty. “I fear that you may be the best of men, Your Highness. I only hope that I can measure up.”

He huffed a laugh. “You hold me in a far higher regard than I deserve. Right now,” and he leaned close enough that his lips brushed her ear, his breath sending explosive shivers down her spine, “All I want is to kiss you again.”

* * *

Rey’s giddy laugh echoed against the stone, even as Ben halfheartedly admonished her to be silent. 

As the alcohol continued to flow, and the dancing grew more boisterous, they had crept out of the Grand Hall. As much as Rey wished to find their garden, and consecrate their union with eager hands and lips and bodies once more, their absence would soon be noted.

Instead, she dragged him to a quiet corner, and kissed him. 

The taste of him, the scent of him was so familiar. Tonight, there was no urgency, no uncertain fate snapping at their heels. They kissed slowly, with gentle lips and tongue. Rey wound her fingers through the silk of his hair to bring him closer. Her body thrummed with barely concealed desire.

Ben nipped her lip softly, and pulled away. Their noses rubbed and a shared giggle passed between them.

“I hope my mother has mercy on us, and agrees to a short engagement,” he said, trailing butterfly kisses over her cheeks and jaw, nipping gently at the soft skin with his teeth.

“Me too,” Rey breathed. She stood upon her tiptoes to capture his mouth again, before a loud cough caused them to spring guiltily apart.

Half bathed in shadow, she spotted Bazine leaning against the wall, arms folded against her chest but a curious expression on her face. “Perhaps save such public displays of ah… _affection_ , for when you get to Alderaan.”

Ben adopted a bashful pose, but Rey merely laughed. She darted towards Bazine, and threw herself upon friend, her companion, her mentor. _Her sister_...

For a few seconds, Bazine blinked, her expression dazed as though a blow had landed upon her. But her arms crept around Rey, and soon they were holding one another in a rib-crushing embrace.

“I’ll miss you too,” Rey said, and brushed a kiss to her cheek. She pretended to ignore as Bazine hastily wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her golden gown. “And I have a parting gift for you,” she added almost as an afterthought, pulling out that scrap of silk from the cleave of her gown. Bazine regarded it oddly, but a dark gleam filled her eyes as she opened it and recognised the flowers within. 

“I’m confident I won’t need it,” Rey whispered, “But I’m sure you might find a use for it.” She winked. “You’ll come visit me, won’t you? After all, who else is going to recommend books to me?”

Bazine laughed; a chilling sound which bounced off the walls and would have caused Rey to shiver had she not grown accustomed to her companion's odd behaviour. When her laughter had died down, she brushed her thumb over Rey's cheek. “It appears I have nothing more to teach you.” Her lips snapped into a frown, but Rey saw the mirth dazzling in her eyes as they turned to Ben, who stood puzzled a few feet away. “You may be a Prince, young man… but if you hurt Lady Kenobi in any way,” her voice dropped low and dangerous, “Then I will make sure it is the last thing you do.” With another chuckle, Bazine turned and left.

Ben stared, mouth adorably agape, and only snapped out of his shock when Rey kissed his cheek.

He ran a hand through his hair. “She really is as mad as they say, isn’t she?”

Rey shook her head. “She’s complicated, but she is the most fascinating woman I've ever met. She is as a sister to me.” A slow smile filled her cheeks, “And I suspect she might love me too.” 

And Rey pulled Ben down for another kiss, drinking lungfuls of his wonderful lavender scent, a more intoxicating fragrance than even that secret garden could offer.

**Author's Note:**

> Spoiler alert... She does return.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
